When Perfect Meets Crazy novel Chapter 18

“Why’d you do it?”

“Do what?” I countered innocently.

He tilted his head, awarding me an unimpressed look. “You’re better than that. Answer the question.”

I heaved a sigh, drew in a deep breath, straightened my spine and forced myself to meet his gaze, holding it steady as I tried to stare him out of countenance. He sat back, stretched out his legs and laid his clasped hands on the table top as he stared back, unwaveringly. I scowled.

“Fine.” I sighed, averting my gaze. He was like a brick wall, unyielding. “Fine,” I repeated, stalling for time as I tried to come up with a distraction.

“Here’s the thing,” I drawled conversationally, stalling even more as I came to the realization that the quaint almost empty ice-cream parlor had nothing to offer by way of a distraction.

“Go on,” he urged as though he knew what I was thinking.

I pressed my lips together, forcing them into the semblance of a smile.

“Well, I...” I picked up the long aesthetically pleasing but not particularly practical spoon that came with my ice-cream and waved it in a circular all-encompassing motion with all the authority of a college professor. “I was wondering. How did you find this place? It’s so... it has a nice... aura. “

That had to be the worst diversion tactic out there. While I was a bit curious about the answer, I couldn’t help cringing at how obvious the attempt was. This corner-of-an-alley struggling ice-cream parlor did not fit either of his personas, not the rich kid and definitely not the hardened criminal but such an obvious poorly constructed diversion technic didn’t suit me either. It was all I could do to not hide my face in shame.

“Don’t change the subject.”

I rolled my eyes as offhandedly as I could manage even though inwardly, my embarrassment quotient boiled over. ‘Can’t I win one battle today?’ a part of me wanted to scream.

“I’m just curious. No matter how I look at it, it doesn’t fit.” My voice sounded just a little high pitched to my ears and despite my efforts, my eyes kept darting away.

It was embarrassing. Humiliating, even. I normally prided myself on being an excellent liar with no tells but here I was, acting like an amateur. It wasn’t my day and even on a good day, something about Masked Idiot threw me off my game. From the very first day he showed up at the library. There were at least ten better ways to have handled that besides agreeing to let him publicly stalk me. There was just something about him that made me keep doing these stupid things.

I set my spoon down, an annoyed scowl making its way onto my face.

“Because... It’s what I do. It’s what I’m supposed to do,” I answered brusquely, hoping to put him off with the attitude.

He shook his head, a confused smile on his face.

“What?”

“You heard me.” My tone didn’t soften.

“Doing that girl’s dirty work is what you’re supposed to do?” he questioned in a mocking tone. “That makes perfect sense.”

His eye narrowed, not with suspicion but disbelief. Like he considered the idea a ridiculous notion. I shrugged, rubbing my hands together to warm up my cold fingers.

“You hate her. She hates you. There’s no reason for you to do her dirty work,” he oversimplified. Like life is ever that simple.

“Look,” I refrained from rolling my eyes, “it’s complicated.”

I picked up the spoon again, absently pushing it around in my ice-cream bowl while waiting for him to follow up with another of his infamous annoying questions.

“Simplify it because I’m not following.”

I rolled my eyes and dumped a spoonful of the ice-cream in my mouth. He was so predictable.

“I’m going to have to plead the fifth,” I stated. “Not that I owe you an explanation.”

“Your right to not incriminate yourself,” he vocalized offhandedly. “Wonderful. You might as well have just said you wanted me to be more suspicious of you. Also, we’re not in court.”

“You know what the pleading the fifth means?” Surprise coloured my tone. Interest followed in its wake as soon as he guiltily averted his gaze.

As a lawyer’s kid, I knew all sorts about the law, decidedly more than the average person but judging from the way his eyes were darting everywhere but at me, he had come into his knowledge by some means he couldn’t casually share.

A light bulb went on in my head. He had been in a trial before. Probably for his criminal activities. It truly was wonder no one else had discovered his secret identity given how horrible he was at keeping any sort of secret.

“I’m not just a pretty face,” he joked, a second too late for it to be believable. It also didn’t help that his face was colored with irritation.

“You’re not even a pretty face,” I corrected, managing to withhold my scoff. “And don’t even try convincing me there’s a brain somewhere behind that face. You have neither brains nor beauty.”

I withdrew my hands from the table top and tucked them under my laps to warm them up.

“You’re a smart ass.”

“And you’re not even a pretty face,” I countered blandly.

His eyes narrowed in irritation but I couldn’t care less. He couldn’t have looked any less threatening than he did at the monent in this quaint out-of-a-’70s-movies ice-cream parlor. I shivered, pulling my hands out from under me to rub them up and down my arms. The parlor was much cooler than I had expected.

“Is today the day you tell me who you’re working for?” I arched an eyebrow, pressing my palms against both of my ears to warm them up.

“Not even close,” he replied flatly.

“Oh come on,” I cajoled. “Save me the trouble.”

Absently, I wiped the light sheen of sweat off my clammy forehead.

“You know I’ll get it out of you eventually. I’ll figure it out so you might as well,” I paused to draw in a breath, inattentively wondering why I felt breathless at all, “just tell me now.”

“Not a cha...” He paused, brows furrowing.

I arched an eyebrow, wordlessly asking what was wrong.

“You look weird,” he announced a few beats later.

“What a gentleman,” I automatically countered sarcastically, stretching the ends of my sleeves to cover my cold fingers. It really was too cold in the parlor. I was beginning to consider asking for the air con to be turned down.

I shovelled another spoonful of ice-cream into my mouth and glanced at Masked Idiot, waiting for his comeback. Something about the picture he presented did not seem right though. I frowned and set my spoon down. My gaze honed in on him. He wasn’t shivering like I was nor did he seem the least bit affected by the cold despite only having on a light tee shirt. What I had on was a lot thicker and I was actually starting to feel cold in my bones. It should’ve been the other way around.

“You’re not cold.” It was supposed to be a question but it ended up coming out as an accusation.

Thoughts raced through my mind in succession. Why wasn’t he not cold? I was shivering. He should have at least seemed cold. Had he put something in my ice-cream? Was that it? I definitely hadn’t left him alone with it at any point but he was the one who suggested this place. The waiter could be an accomplice of his.

My gaze shot to the softly snoring scrawny underweight waiter. Or maybe not.

“Okay, I get that I’m involved in some sketchy stuff but that doesn’t mean I have to be cold,” he answered, annoyance coating his tone.

He was completely off point but I saw how he could have arrived there thanks to my accusatory tone.

“Sketchy is one word for it,” I muttered, wincing as my teeth chattered while voicing the words. Something was truly wrong.

“You know what I mean.” He scowled.

I refrained from rolling my eyes.

“Calm down, Emotional Emily.” I winced at the reminder that came with the name. “I meant temperature wise, you don’t feel cold?” I clarified.

“Oh.” He had enough sense to look sheepish. “No. Why?”

I wiped my sweaty forehead once more. “Weird.”

“You feel cold?” he questioned.

“Little bit.” I downplayed.

I was almost sure my teeth would start chattering soon regardless of whether I was talking or not.